I'd have to say that the best book I read in 2008 was Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets by David Simon – the only cure for end-of-The-Wire blues. And Portions From a Wine-Stained Notebook by Charles Bukowski, an anthology of his previously uncollected writings that show him to be a much more widely read and culturally aware man than is commonly supposed. And Roger Deakin’s Notes from Walnut Tree Farm; the beautiful necessity of involvement. His death at sixty-three was an immeasurable loss."

"In the LA Times, Carolyn Kellog writes on Charles Bukowski: 'When I was young, and new to L.A., and hanging around dissolute poets, I read a lot of Bukowski, and it seemed to me, even then, that there was a lot of dreck to page through before something struck and resonated. So when I picked up Portions from a Wine-Stained Notebook, it was with those hard questions in mind: doesn't this guy need an editor? And a garbage can? But these essays have that sometimes-absent discipline (or help from editors) so that even when they consist of disconnected paragraphs, they have a kind of form. And, I think, a preciseness of language that’s missing in his lesser work.'"

"The newly released 'Portions from a Wine-Stained Notebook' pulls together as-yet uncollected essays and stories by Charles Bukowski, written from 1944-1990. Some were published in places like 'Rolling Stone'; others showed up in fleeting literary journals and porn mags. The selections include the first of his 'Notes From a Dirty Old Man,' a series that appeared in multiple magazines, and the first short story he published, which pointed out his lack of prior publication: 'Aftermath of a Lengthy Rejection Slip.'"

"I was born in Andernach, Germany, August 16, 1920, the bastard son of an American soldier with the American Army of Occupation. At the age of two, I was brought to the U.S. and after a couple of months' stay in Baltimore I was brought to Los Angeles, and after maturity (?) I bummed the country at random, back and forth, up and down, in and out, but I always returned to Los Angeles, and here I am today, living in a falling-down front court just off the poor man's Sunset Strip. If anybody is an authority on the scene, I ought to be, though granted, the scene has filtered down through days and nights of wine and beer and whiskey, and perhaps a desperation that has twisted my perspective a bit, but I was here, am here, and speak of it..."

I was having visions in those days. They came mostly when I was drying out, not drinking, waiting around for money or something to arrive, and the visions were very real — Technicolor and with music — mostly they flashed across the top of the ceiling while I was on the bed in a half-slumberous state. I had worked in too many factories, had seen too many jails, had drunk too many bottles of cheap wine to maintain any sort of cool and intelligent state toward my visions —

"In conjunction with next weekend’s BookExpo America, City Lights Books and Esotouric are offering a bus tour through Charles Bukowski's Los Angeles, including stops at Skid Row and the poet’s favorite liquor store."

"In honor of the upcoming BEA weekend, the gang at Esotouric is presenting, in cooperation with the landmark City Lights Bookstore, a special tour of Charles Bukowski's L.A. 'Haunts of A Dirty Old Man' will take a lucky TEV reader on this tour."